


I Always Wanted You

by 44TayLo



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Basically the best case scenerio post CA: TWS, Hickies, Kissing, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4819241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/44TayLo/pseuds/44TayLo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier finds Steve, then Steve helps Bucky find himself.</p>
<p>"God, he hated that stubborn kid from Brooklyn. He hated his honest face. He hated his hands that had the potential to kill, but were always so gentle when touching him. He hated his soothing, compassionate voice. He hated his sure, grounded steps. More than anything, he hated the way he could never hate Steve at all..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Always Wanted You

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to Kira, as this was written for her birthday last year.

It’d been three months since Steve first found Bucky sitting quietly in his living room. He’d been hunched over on himself, clothed in a ratty sweatshirt and ball cap. His eyes were steel, and his jaw was clenched.

The confused determination was so Bucky in nature, Steve couldn’t help but feel hope rise up amongst nauseating tendrils of anxiety. He’d been looking for Bucky for weeks, and suddenly there he was, just waiting for him.

“Who’s Bucky?”

Steve’s smile was one of relief as much as it was one of heartbreak.

Two months later, Bucky had recovered the majority of his memories. Bits and pieces still assaulted him at random times, but he remembered enough to uncover who he used to be. Steve had helped him with all of it, everything from telling him stories of their childhood to enduring his relapses. There were nights and mornings when he didn’t remember who he was, only remembered the last order Hydra had given him: kill Captain America. He broke down every time Steve, bloody and bruised from fighting off his best friend, managed to jog his memory.

Steve never gave up on him, though. Not even when Bucky gave up on himself.

During those two months, they never left Steve’s apartment. The destruction of SHIELD had catapulted all of the Avengers, even those with a secret identity, into the public eye. Steve couldn’t afford to leave as it was, and with Bucky living with him, he didn’t want to. Natasha told him to lay low directly after the fallout. She’d given him the address of one of her personal safe houses --one not even SHIELD knew about-- in case his home became compromised, and went as far as to explain how to order his groceries on the internet.

Somehow, Tony Stark caught a hold of his phone number. He wanted all of the Avengers to stay with him in his tower, and to Steve’s surprise, he was the only one who hadn’t joined them yet. With Stark’s cache of lawyers and incredibly practiced PR team, it seemed like a no brainer to accept the offer. Especially when he’d designed a personal floor for each member.

Stark hadn’t been put off when Steve told him about Bucky; he’d simply extended the offer to him as well.

“Far be it from me to separate two time crossed lovers, Rogers,” he’d said in the same casual tone.

After Steve explained the situation, there was no way Bucky could refuse. Not when Steve could benefit so much from the move.

At first, Bucky had pursed his lips and drawn his eyebrows together. “Why does he want you there?” Based on what Steve had told him, Bucky gathered that he and Stark didn’t get along very well.

Steve shrugged, arms folded over his chest. “He wants all of the Avengers there. He thinks he can help keep us safe from the government, I guess. And help us appeal to the public.”

“Can he?”

“Probably. He is Howard’s son, after all. If he says he can do something, I’m sure he can.”

More than anything, Bucky wanted to ensure Steve’s happiness and safety. Even at the expense of his own.

“Then you should go.”

Steve’s gaze snapped from the floor to meet Bucky’s. The intensity there made the brunet swallow thickly. He wasn’t altogether sure why, but his stomach began to flip over on itself.

“Not without you.”

The raw emotion, the sincerity, in his voice was so purely _Steve_. And Bucky did have that memory, the one of him saying those same words, a promise that he wouldn’t leave him, that they’d be together even if that meant dying together.

He hid the tightening of his throat and prickling in his eyes by looking at the ground. His lips morphed into a sad, but real, smile that pulled too far to one side. Part of him wanted to cry, part of him wanted to push Steve against a wall and kiss the ever loving fuck out of his gorgeous mouth that could make him feel so many things. And yeah, okay, maybe he _did_ know why it felt like his heart kept dropping into his stomach, but that wasn’t something he was ready to deal with. Not until he knew Steve felt the same way.

God, he hated that stubborn kid from Brooklyn. He hated his honest face. He hated his hands that had the potential to kill, but were always so gentle when touching him. He hated his soothing, compassionate voice. He hated his sure, grounded steps. More than anything, he hated the way he could never hate Steve at all.

He was selfish. He didn’t deserve Steve, didn’t deserve to hold him back like this. Who was he to hoard him away? Why did Steve stick around when even he himself knew that fixing the broken shards of his memory would hardly turn him into a worthy man?

He was aware of Steve kneeling in front of his chair, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. Steve was so perceptive, and Bucky’s eyes didn’t always hide what he told them to, anymore. Not from Steve, anyway.

And then there was one of those large, sure hands on his shoulder. Steve gave him a gentle squeeze, but he still didn’t look up. He felt his sigh rather than heard it. Then that arm wrapped around his shoulders and all at once he was being enveloped.

When had Steve started protecting him more often than the other way around?

“You’re not alone anymore, Buck. And I’m not going to leave you,” Steve said softly, holding him even tighter.

Bucky was reminded again that he wasn’t the only one who’d gone through loss. Another wave of guilt crashed over him.

He hugged back.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Steve. I go where you go.”

They were in the newly christened Avengers Tower the next day.

It took a lot --too much in Bucky’s opinion-- of reassurance that he honestly didn’t mind moving. In the end, Bucky ended up having to half-yell-half-choke a confession that he cared very little about anything. So long as Steve was safe and he was allowed to stay with him, he was content.

Something in those words made Steve realize that keeping Bucky all to himself was doing more harm than good at this point. He needed to have more exposure, to experience more things and more people.

He texted Tony their address.

The month that followed was not as chaotic as Steve had anticipated. When he’d informed Tony they’d need time to pack, put things in storage, and give the landlord notice, he’d simply brushed Steve off. Pepper was, apparently, already in the process of taking care of everything. There was no need to pack anything but the essentials, because Tony had bought the place for him. He assured Steve that the landlord had been thrilled to receive such a ridiculous amount of money for the apartment. Steve tried to protest, but Tony only shrugged him off. He’d done the same for the rest of the Avengers, wanting them to have a place they could retreat to outside of the tower.

A car picked him and Bucky up the next day.

JARVIS had startled Bucky at first, but soon he was tensing up only slightly when the AI spoke. He’d informed the two men that while the others would be more than happy to see them, Master Stark figured they’d want some time to settle in.

Such forethought from Tony had Steve feeling both thankful and a bit confused.

Their floor was large. The feel was most definitely cozy, but modern, and Steve was able to let out a relieved breath. He’d honestly expected the décor to be some sort of attempt at a 40’s throwback that’d been Frankensteined together. That’s what SHIELD had done before he insisted on moving into an apartment of his choosing.

They were standing in the doorway, which led immediately to a living room. Both men were tense and unsure of themselves, unsure of how to make this new place feel like home.

There was a cushy, white couch set in front of a dark chocolate colored coffee table. A large, flat screen TV hung from the wall facing the couch. In this respect, it was a fairly normal living room. What set it apart was the authentic looking record player sitting in the corner, and the easel, complete with various art supplies, overlooking the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window.

Bucky saw Steve eyeing the easel and smiled fondly. He set his luggage down, deciding to scope out the rest of the place. Steve, of course, followed him.

The kitchen was separated from the living room by a countertop that shot off from the left wall. Barstools were aligned on the kitchen-side of the counter, and the kitchen itself was filled with tons of gadgets. Steve was fairly certain that at least four of them were coffee machines.

A hallway extended past the kitchen and to the right. There were two, identical bedrooms. Each one had a queen-sized bed, bookshelf, desk, dresser, closet, and adjoining bathroom. Across from the bedrooms was another bathroom and a full-sized gym. There were weights already there, along with a treadmill and a punching bag.

Steve couldn’t help but be completely awed.

Bucky seemed to read his mind.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t get along with you, he sure went all out.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “This is…”

“In-fucking-credible?” Bucky supplied.

Steve nodded.

The old apartment had been their world for the last two months. Their world was much bigger now, and Steve felt sure that moving here had been the right decision.

After a month, Bucky still hadn’t interacted much with the other Avengers. That was fine with Steve. He didn’t want to push Bucky into something the man wasn’t ready for. They had decades of brainwashing to undo, and it was ridiculous to expect Bucky to fully come back from that after only a handful of months.

There was a shared floor for the Avengers that consisted of a large entertainment area, kitchen, bar, and a training room enhanced with Stark-tech. Along with space for sparring, it also contained a shooting/archery range. It was on this floor, in the communal kitchen, that Bucky had first met the others.

Once in a blue moon, the team would share a meal together. Tony--via JARVIS--had insisted Steve and Bucky come down and eat with the team two weeks after they’d moved in. Bucky felt like he’d put off the inevitable for too long, and told JARVIS they’d be there before Steve could ask for Bucky’s opinion.

Bucky had, to Steve’s surprise, taken to Doctor Banner immediately.

“Is that coconut milk?”

“Yes.”

“And Sriracha sauce.”

“That’s right.”

Bucky squinted. “Brazil. They eat this in Brazil.” He was sitting on a barstool, head down, but eyes looking up through his lashes at the stove.

“They do,” Banner had answered. There was a softness in his voice when he talked to Bucky.

Steve was sitting next to Bucky, ready to run interference if necessary.

A gentle sizzle rose up from the pan as Banner poured the coconut and Sriracha sauce into it. “Have you been there?” he questioned.

“I think so. Things get hazy when they…” The rest of his sentence drifted off.

Banner nodded when it was obvious Bucky wasn’t going to finish. “That happens to me, too. When the Other Guy comes out, I mean. Memories of stuff right before and after aren’t as clear as they should be. And I only remember fragments of what happened in between.” He poured lime juice onto the dish and added some seasonings that Bucky couldn’t identify, but he was sure he’d tasted before.

“They reset me. When I remember things they don’t want me to. Some of the other stuff gets lost when they do that…did that!” Bucky corrected himself frantically, eyes widening at the mistake.

Steve’s arm wrapped around his shoulders even as Banner was reassuring him, “It’s okay, I know what you meant.” He paused, turning the stove off and stirring the contents of the pan. “It’s done, if you want to try it. It might help you remember.”

It took Bucky’s brain a second to catch up and realize he was talking about the food. He shook his head, finally looking up to meet Banner’s eyes. “I’m not sure I want to.”

A sad, understanding expression flicked across Banner’s face before he could force it down. He offered a compassionate smile instead. “There’s leftover spaghetti from yesterday. Does that sound better?”

Bucky wanted to give a smile, but his face wasn’t cooperating. He settled for a nod.

A steaming plate of spaghetti was placed in front of him, and Bucky was sure he could feel something tightening in his chest. He was sure such a simple act of kindness shouldn’t have had this effect on him, but it did, and he managed a rough, “thank you,” before he had to look away.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce replied. And then, turning towards the group of people in the living room, he yelled, “Soup’s on!”

After dinner, when the others started drifting back to their quarters and Banner was waiting for Stark, Steve approached the curly haired man.

“Doctor--”

“Call me Bruce, Steve. Please.”

Steve smiled tiredly. “Bruce. Thank you. For earlier.”

Bruce shrugged, eyes drifting over to where Bucky was seemingly watching the TV. Steve knew better. He was scanning the room, watching and listening to the others as they left.

“I didn’t really do anything. But you’re welcome, anyway.”

Bucky ran into Bruce many times after that: twice in the communal gym, and, unbeknownst to Steve, many times in the middle of the night.

On nights when Bucky had nightmares while Steve slept peacefully, he took to wandering around the tower. Bucky could never bring himself to wake Steve up to seek comfort. His friend had too many troubled nights as it was.

Eventually, he made his way to the shared floor in search of leftovers (all food stored there was free game). Bruce had been on the couch with a cup of tea in his hands and acomedian Bucky didn’t recognize on the TV. He immediately turned around to slip back into the elevator, but was stopped when Bruce spoke, eyes never straying from the comedian.

“Don’t leave on my account. I don’t mind company, if you want to stay.”

Something in the physicist’s voice made him walk over to the couch. He hovered awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

Brown eyes flicked over to him. He had to consciously keep himself from squirming under their gaze. “Do you want some tea?”

“Yes,” he replied honestly. He wasn’t sure why he’d said that; he’d planned on shaking his head.

Bruce was up in an instant, giving him a soft smile and gesturing toward the couch. “You can sit down, you know. I’m not gonna bite.”

He didn’t reply. His eyes tracked Bruce to the kitchen, watching him put a kettle on the stove and retrieve a box from a cabinet.

Eyes never leaving the man’s back, Bucky lowered himself onto the couch. “It’s not you I’m afraid of.”

He watched Bruce’s movements halt, just for a moment, before they picked back up and he said, “Well now, that’s just a poor sense of self-preservation.”

Bucky had nothing to say to that, and so that was the end of any and all conversation. The comedian was animated, witty, and absolutely filthy. A light smile graced his lips as he watched. Heat from the mug seeped into Bucky’s flesh and blood hand, and the tea itself calmed his nerves.

He fell asleep there. When he woke up, Bruce was sleeping next to him. The man was utterly still and silent, and though his face was calm, his body was curled up into itself to make a tight ball. As Bucky rode the elevator back to his floor, he wondered how often Bruce slept on that couch. He wondered if it had been simple insomnia that kept him up, or slithering shadows from the past and shards of anxiety about the future. He’d bet money on the latter.

Steve was still sleeping when he slipped back inside.

Three weeks later found Bucky deeply asleep for once. Something, however, woke him while it was still dark out. He tensed automatically in his bed, feigning sleep while listening for any indication of an intruder. It was a while before the noise sounded again, but Bucky recognized it as panic-tinged mumbling from the next room over. He’d only just sat up and thrown the sheets off when it stopped abruptly and the sound was replaced with dull, thudding footsteps. The door creaked as it was slowly opened. Steve’s head peaked inside, and their gazes locked.

Steve was still breathing hard. His eyes scanned Bucky’s body before he visibly relaxed and he let his gaze drop to the floor. “Sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to make sure—” He swallowed audibly, cutting himself off.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged.

Nodding, Steve allowed himself to check Bucky over once more. “I’m gonna go. Sorry.”

“Stay.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, face still lined with worry.

“Please,” he amended. He was going to worry about Steve now, about nightmares the man had that stemmed from knowing him. If he could give Steve a little comfort, give back some of the kindness Steve had shown him, then dammit, he would. Besides, something in him ached to keep Steve safe and hold him close, shielding him from the unfeeling cruelty of this world.

“It’ll be like when we were kids. We did do that when we were kids, right? In the winter, to keep you warm?” He asked because sometimes it was hard to tell what was his imagination and what was an actual memory.

Steve smiled. “Yeah, we did.” He hesitated in the doorway, but Bucky could tell part of him wanted to accept the offer. He licked his lips. “Are you sure?”

As Bucky watched the motion, he suddenly wasn’t. This might not be the best idea, given how attracted he was to his only friend. But, if it’d help Steve, he’d do it. He had plenty of practice shoving his wants down and away.

“If it’ll help, then yeah.”

Steve took a step, but hesitated again.

Bucky sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Steve. Look, it’ll probably help me sleep too, okay?”

With a sigh, he whispered, “Okay,” and then walked around the other side of the bed. Bucky pulled the sheets further down, and Steve slipped in beside him.

Steve lay on his back, straight as a board, and Bucky recognized it as the old war habit it was. He himself turned on his side so he could look at Steve. Eyes open and staring at the ceiling, it was obvious he was troubled.

“Talk to me,” Bucky demanded.

Steve exhaled loudly. “It’s hard. To sleep I mean.” He swallowed thickly again.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed.

“You go to sleep once, and you wake up in a completely different time, not knowing anything or anyone, and it’s just really hard to go to sleep again after that.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He could empathize with being alone, sure, but he’d been brainwashed. He hadn’t even remembered the people he’d lost. That was different. A different kind of ache, a different kind of loneliness.

“And then I finally get up the courage to see Peggy after all these years, and she doesn’t remember me. And I find you, and you don’t remember me. And it’s like this hole in myself that just keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger.”

Steve was still looking at the ceiling, but Bucky could see the tears pooling in his eyes, could hear the tightness in his voice and the way it broke on that last word.

“I remember you now, Steve. I do.” He lightly touched his arm with metallic fingers, not trusting himself completely for a myriad of reasons. “I’m different than I was, but I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally rolling onto his side, Steve stared at Bucky. He stared at his arm wrapped gently around his bicep, and then at his face. There was a bottomless look in his eyes, and Bucky didn’t like where it was stemming from. He wanted to take that pain away forever and crush those that had put it there in the first place.

“I know, Buck. That’s why I’m so scared of going to sleep,” he whispered. And now that painful depth in his eyes was accompanied by something desperate. “I don’t want to wake up and be further in the future, or realize that finding you was the long, delusional dream of a pathetic, lonely man.”

Bucky couldn’t help it, he gently squeezed Steve’s arm, excessively mindful of his own strength. “I’m here, and I’m real. Alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

They both laid there, staring at each other for what seemed like minutes, before Steve moved. He was careful to be slow, careful to give Bucky time to object and Bucky knew this, but he didn’t stop it. Steve’s hand came to rest on top of Bucky’s ribcage, and that melted some of the anxiety from his countenance. It served to ground him. With Steve’s hand on Bucky, and Bucky’s still holding Steve’s arm, the two men managed to fall asleep.

Morning came too soon, bringing with it light that draped across Bucky’s face. As always, he woke up suddenly and immediately, though there was something different about this morning. Something was wrapped around him, and there was a heavy weight on his chest.

He tensed instinctively, his eyes opening in a controlled panic. It flooded out of him as he realized he wasn’t being restrained. Steve had shifted during the night; the weight on his chest was Steve’s head, and his arms had wrapped around him. Bucky had moved to cradle Steve. His real arm was under the other man’s torso, and his hand was resting on his waist. His metallic hand was still clutching Steve’s arm.

The panic returned.

This was going to be so fucking awkward. He had to sneak away before Steve woke up, or it’d be impossible to pretend this hadn’t happened. Steve was too good of a person to let this just slide. He’d notice that Bucky was being awkward about it and not reacting the way someone was supposed to react when they woke up to cuddling their best friend. Shit, what was the proper reaction to this?

Holding his breath, he tried to shift out from under Steve. This was immediately met with mumbling, and Steve’s body following his own. Bucky found himself being held onto even tighter, and yeah, this was not a good situation. But then Steve let out a sigh and his head nuzzled into him, and Bucky felt his heart absolutely _melt_.

“Oh fuck it,” he whispered, his head coming to rest on top of Steve’s. He let his eyes slip closed and drifted off again.

When Bucky woke up for the second time, Steve was gone. The smell of eggs and bacon in the air told him where his friend was. With a sleep muddled groan, he rolled out of bed. He padded out to the kitchen, not bothering to put on a shirt, while he tried to rub some feeling back into his shoulder. Steve’s weight had hindered his circulation throughout the night, resulting in pins and needles in his arm. He couldn’t bring himself to mind.

Steve was standing in front of the stove, holding a spatula, and still in his night shirt and boxers. The sight was incredibly domestic, and something in Bucky hummed with fondness. That feeling was soiled, however, when he realized how awkward the morning was about to become. He grimaced as he sat at one of the bar stools and muttered a groggy, “’Morning.”

Steve turned to look at him, all bright eyes and smiling lips. “Good morning. Scrambled eggs and bacon sound good?”

That wasn’t exactly how Bucky had expected Steve to reply. He figured he’d be more hesitant to talk to him after last night, or that Steve would jump right into a conversation about how they’d been holding onto each other while they were _sleeping together_.

“Sounds great.”

Some of his surprise and uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Steve set down the spatula and turned around to fully face him.

“Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t, because he couldn’t stop remembering the comforting weight of Steve’s head on his chest, how protected he’d felt with Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist.

He lowered his gaze to the floor and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

Steve saw right through him, just like Bucky feared he would.

“No,” he answered in equally quiet tones.

Bucky heard Steve’s footsteps, could practically feel him coming closer, and he tried to prepare himself for what he knew was coming, he really did, but when those arms were wrapping around him once again, he couldn’t help but sigh in contentment. His arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and he rested his head in the crook of Steve’s neck. The embrace felt oddly like being held rather than being hugged.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the cool smell of Steve’s deodorant and shampoo mixed with the musky scent that emanated from the man himself. Cocooned like this, Bucky felt a bit braver than normal. He wasn’t going to confess his feelings, hell no, but he did manage to verbalize something he’d been meaning to tell Steve for a long time.

“Thank you.”

Steve’s arms held him even tighter.

“For what?”

Bucky sighed. Of course Steve would need it spelled it out. “For helping me,” he mumbled, his voice coming out muffled from his place on Steve’s shoulder. “For not giving up on me.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“This is different. It’s like…” Bucky lifted his head, and now there were only a few inches between them. He sucked in a breath, willing himself not to dip down and claim Steve’s lips.

“When I feel like I’m at the end of my rope, you cut off some of yours and tie it onto mine,” he continued. He swallowed hard, catching Steve’s gaze linger on his bobbing Adam’s apple as he did so. Hope swelled in his chest, making him even bolder. “I don’t think you know what that means to me, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes focused once again on Bucky’s own. He licked his lips, and Bucky was positive that Steve felt his resulting shiver. “I told you, Buck. I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky let his forehead come to rest on Steve’s, eyes slipping closed. He marveled for a moment at how tall Steve was. Before the serum, Bucky had been at least a head taller. He couldn’t remember exactly how much, but he knew it’d been a lot.

“Like I said, there’s a difference,” he began slowly (he wanted, _needed_ , Steve to understand this), “Between stickin’ with me until then and cutting off some of your line to lengthen mine.”

One of Steve’s hands moved up his neck to cup the back of his head. “I’m not cutting my line, Bucky,” He whispered, and Bucky could feel the heat of his breath on his lips, could hear the heat in his voice. “I’m sharing it. That’s what you do when you…when you love someone. You share your life with them.”

Bucky felt something warm and wet bubble up in his chest. He let out a shuddering breath, and his eyes opened. He pulled his head back to gaze at Steve, finding himself confronted with his achingly open stare. That strong hand stayed buried in his hair, guiding him forwards. They were both moving, colliding, after years of rotating around each other. And as their lips met, Bucky thought he felt the sun explode where his heart was supposed to be.

They were dancing with each other, figuring out how they fit together, slowly, sweetly, in such a way that Bucky felt like time had stopped and sped up all at once. The animal inside him wanted to touch and kiss everywhere, but Steve had yet to move his hands, and his lips still worked clumsily against his own. The man inside of him remembered Steve had little experience in this area. Deciding to let him set the pace, Bucky allowed himself to savor this delicate thing they were creating. Steve kept sighing, humming beautifully, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile into the kiss.

A shrill noise sounded and they both jerked back to look at the ceiling. The smell of smoke had filled the air, and it was then that both Bucky and Steve realized the stove was still on.

Bucky chuckled as Steve jumped to turn it off and dump the pan into the sink. He turned on the faucet, dousing the pan and creating a cloud of steam.

The alarm stopped, and Steve let out a relieved breath as he turned back to Bucky.

Still grinning, Bucky tried to think of something, anything to say. All he could come up with was, “So.”

Steve smiled back. “So?”

Bucky opened his mouth but quickly shut it again. This still felt so delicate and unreal; he didn’t want to jinx it.

Steve’s phone went off, prompting the blond to snatch it off of the kitchen counter. His eyes squinted, and he pursed his lips.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“It’s Sam. He wants to know if we want to go to the MOMA with him in a couple hours.”

The questioning tone in Steve’s voice had Bucky shrugging. They hadn’t been outside of the tower yet, and it seemed like today was destined to be full of firsts. Besides, he’d be able to watch Steve’s face light up as they looked at all of the different art exhibits.

“Sure, why not.”

Steve eyed him critically. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Steve,” Bucky replied, trying not to roll his eyes. “Tell him we’ll meet him there.”

Steve nodded and began texting a reply. He was staring intently at the phone, giving Bucky a perfect opportunity to shamelessly appreciate him. He was so tall now, and his shoulders were so broad. Bucky eyed his boxers, letting his smile return and his mind wander where it may.

“You should probably put pants on.”

Steve, who had still been texting, looked up to nod in agreement. Only the nod ended in an odd jerking motion followed by a slow moving smile and even slower moving blush. He saw the hungry look in Bucky’s eyes, recognized it for what it was.

“It’s only fair for you to put a shirt on, then.”

And then Steve was pulling him by the hand into his bedroom. Bucky watched him rummage around in his dresser for a pair of jeans. He slipped those on then disappeared into the closet. Unsure of why exactly Steve had brought him into the room, Bucky hovered by the door. When Steve returned, he was wearing a button-up T-shirt covered in blue plaid.

“You look great, Stevie, but I need to get dressed too, ya know.”

Steve’s blush returned with a vengeance, and Bucky knew it went all the way down his neck and further. He’d always been a full-body blusher.

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Steve replied. Then he paused, his thoughts catching up with him. “Did you just call me ‘Stevie’?”

Bucky furrowed his brows. “…Yeah. I guess I did. Didn’t I used to?”

“When we were kids, yeah.”

There was something unreadable in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky found himself suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“Did we…” Bucky sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. He cringed at the cold, hard feeling of metal on his scalp. “Were we like this? Before?”

As always, Steve seemed to sense Bucky’s distress as if he could read his mind. He quickly shortened the distance between them and placed a gentle hand where skin began to meet metal.

“No.” And there was sorrow in his voice, in his eyes. Wave after blue wave of regret roiled in his irises. “For me, yeah. But you…you always loved the dames, Buck.” His lips turned up in a self-deprecating smile. “A scrawny kid like me didn’t stand a chance. Especially with how being gay was viewed back then.”

Something old snapped inside and a flood of emotions from Before came loose. Overwhelmed, Bucky let his own long forgotten waves of longing, jealousy, and affection break over him. There were other things there, too. Anger, regret, fear, but above all was that fondness that might have very well been love.

He was kissing Steve again, roughly, desperately, with hands touching everywhere and Steve against a wall he didn’t remember backing him into. He slipped a hand under Steve’s shirt, marveling at the feeling of hard muscle where he knew there had once been only skin and bones. He moved his lips in silent apologies, trying to shove all of his regret into each one. They’d wasted so much time, _so much time_. If he’d only told Steve how he felt about him. He had meant to, he knew that much now. He’d planned on doing it before going to war. But he hadn’t. And now they were left with too much time wasted.

He pulled away, just for a moment, and Steve muttered, “James,” between two hurried breaths.

Steve’s pupils were blown wide and his eyes were wet. One of his hands was in Bucky’s hair and the other on his hip. The hand in his hair moved to wipe away tears Bucky hadn’t realized had managed to spill over.

Slowly, gently, Bucky unbuttoned the top of Steve’s shirt. He looked up for permission, and, seeing the trust in Steve’s eyes, brought his lips down below Steve’s collarbone and sucked. He heard Steve sigh at the sensation, heard the soft thud as his head rested against the wall. When Bucky was sure he’d left a mark, he pulled away and carefully re-buttoned the shirt.

Bucky watched him, waited for him to open his eyes, and then stared searchingly. He needed to make sure Steve understood.

“I wanted you. I always wanted you,” he choked out.

He was being held again, and when he felt that tight embrace, saw the tears still in Steve’s eyes and the smile on his lips, he knew Steve understood. The mark wasn’t territorial or possessive. It was a promise. The women he’d been with, and he used that phrase lightly, had never mattered. They’d just been an attempt to fill the hole inside of him. He’d always wanted Steve, and now he would always go after Steve.

Steve let out a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay.” Clearing his throat, he pulled away. “Okay.”

They stared at each other in a comforting silence until Steve glanced at the clock. “Shirt,” he said, still a bit dazed. “You need a shirt. And pants that aren’t for sleeping.”

Bucky frowned, glancing at the clock. “We’re not meeting Wilson for a couple of hours, right?”

“He wants to meet down there at noon.”

Bucky grinned. He cradled Steve’s jaw, running the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone. “In that case, I’d rather wait on the shirt.” He kissed Steve once again, his other hand landing on his hip, with fingers ghosting over the waistband of his jeans.

He pulled back, prompting Steve to smile. The blond eyed the bed before saying, “Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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